59

Two days later, and the move from one apartment to the other was done, and they officially moved in to what was once Fantine's apartment.

Inès returned Éponine's key for her old apartment to Éléonore, and conjured copies of keys for the new apartment for Éponine and Gavroche. The final thing to be moved to the new apartment was Hyacinthe the kitten, who had not been allowed outside ever since they had found her, for fear she might run off and not return.

Hyacinthe was very excited by the walk from one apartment to the other, but that excitement paled into comparison once she began to explore the new apartment. The three of them sat and watched as the kitten hurtled over all of the furniture. Gavroche got up at one point to make sure that all the doors were open so that Hyacinthe's exploration could encompass the whole flat and not just the main room.

Hyacinthe had just begun to clamber up the pale blue curtains, when Éponine made an announcement that had been playing on her mind for the past few days: "I want to hold a party."

"A party?" Gavroche echoed, standing up to help Hyacinthe, who had got tangled in the heavy fabric of the curtains.

"A party." Éponine linked her hands together. "To welcome us to the house."

"Who would we invite?" Inès said.

"Well, the students..." Éponine thought. "Éléonore."

"It's not like we have anyone else to invite," Gavroche muttered, setting Hyacinthe on his shoulder. She stood there, and meowed proudly, as if she fully expected Éponine and Inès to be jealous of her position.

"Inès might have someone," Éponine said. "A friend from work, maybe?"

"I don't have friends," Inès pointed out. "So, no. It'd just be the students."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Éponine said. "We all get along with them, and Courfeyrac can get us some Bliss, and..."

"I don't mind," Inès said, picking some fluff off the skirt of her dress.

"It sounds fun," Gavroche said, with a shrug that nearly sent Hyacinthe flying off his shoulder.

"I'll get planning then," Éponine said, smiling at the pair of them.

XXX

It took four days to arrange. Four days to hunt everyone down and force them to agree to turn up. Some, such as Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Enjolras agreed immediately, as did Bahorel and Prouvaire. Bossuet needed very little persuasion, and Grantaire just a little bit more (although he had taken a while to track down).

Joly had taken the most persuasion. It had been a long time since Éponine had seen him, but she almost didn't recognise him when she did. She remembered a happy, smiling, always cheerful young man from the Musain. This man didn't smile, and he had refused her offer almost as soon as she made it. It had taken some pleading from Gavroche to get him to agree.

Combeferre had offered to ask Éléonore, and Bossuet had asked if he could bring Bérénice. Éponine had forgotten Bérénice had existed, but saw no reason why she couldn't come.

That left one person for her to find and invite, and that was Feuilly, who like Joly, she hadn't seen in a long time.

"He paints a lot," Bahorel said, when she asked him where she might find him. "Down by the river, usually."

"Whereabouts 'down by the river'?" Éponine prompted.

"Just...around," Bahorel said vaguely, waving a hand.

Éponine hadn't been near the river in a while, so it almost felt strange to walk along its paved banks. As ever, the water was as still as glass, reflecting the current pale yellow of the sky above. Staring at it she could remember how sweet the water tasted against her lips as she hauled Inès' family to the bank.

Eventually, much, much, much further down the river, the pavement ended and soft, springy grass began, peppered here and there with tiny flowers of various colours.

That was where she found Feuilly. He had a wooden easel set up, and he was painting. Not scenery, though; he was painting a street filled with people, a riot of colours. The paint he used was thick, and applied thickly, too, so that as it dried it stuck out in jagged formations from the canvas.

"Hello," she said.

Feuilly didn't even twitch. A few moments slid by, as he carefully pressed some yellow onto the canvas, and then he glanced over his shoulder. Some surprise registered on his face.

"Éponine, hello," he said.

"I like that," she found herself saying. She nodded her head forwards. "The painting, I mean."

"I'd gathered that," he said, smiling. "What brings you here?"

"I'm throwing a party," she said. "Gavroche, Inès and I have just moved into our new home, and we thought it would be a nice idea if we celebrated it..."

"I take it that this is an invitation?" he said, turning back to the painting and smudging the yellow a little.

"Yes," she said, stepping closer.

"All right," he said. There were smears of all sorts of colours over his hands, she noticed. "I'll come. When is it?"

"Tomorrow," she said.

"I expect I'll come with Bahorel. He'll know the way, won't he?"

"Yes, he's been there before."

"Well, I look forward to it." He glanced over his shoulder again. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes?" Éponine replied. She couldn't think of anything that Feuilly might want to ask her; they barely knew each other.

"I heard that Enjolras has been behaving rather strangely recently." Feuilly turned his body fully around now. His face was very calm. "I'm aware that there has been speculation about the cause, and that it probably involves you and Courfeyrac."

Éponine felt sick all of a sudden, like a hand had wrapped around her stomach and was squeezing with all its might. "Y-yes," she said. "But that's not my –"

"Oh, no." He set down his paintbrush and paints on the grass and held out his hands towards her. "I'm sorry – you misunderstand me, I'm not trying to come across like I'm..."

"I know – I remember that Enjolras was very fond of you," Éponine said.

"We are good friends, yes, but that's not what I'm trying to say, Éponine." Feuilly let out a sigh, and he raked his hand through his dark hair, leaving a streak of yellow through the curls. "I'm not angry at you, none of us are – we have no reason to be, it's Enjolras that is behaving in an unreasonable manner, we know that. Besides, I said I wanted to ask you a question."

Éponine bit her lip. "Which is?"

Feuilly paused, and rubbed his hands together. "Enjolras has been acting oddly towards me, too," he said, eventually. "We still see each other a lot, all of us – at least once every few days, like we used to when we were alive. But Enjolras – he won't look me in the eye, he barely speaks to me, he...It's unusual. I've noticed that he was the same with Courfeyrac the last time we spoke, and..."

"Feuilly," Éponine interrupted. "What's your question?"

"Why do you think that might be?" Feuilly asked.

Éponine stared at him. She didn't know him well enough to comment, really, only knew things second hand and what she had experienced when she had last seen them together, alive and here, and...It was unusual for Enjolras to treat Feuilly that way, if it was true, and it didn't fit the pattern for the rest of it. He was treating herself and Courfeyrac differently for obvious reasons, and Combeferre because he was stuck in the middle.

But Feuilly? Why would he treat Feuilly differently? He had no reason to.

"I don't know," she said, at last. "I can't think of a reason why. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you've said something to him – about me, or Courfeyrac..."

"I haven't," Feuilly said. "The only ones foolish enough to get in the way of that dispute would be Combeferre, and possibly Jehan, if he felt he had enough reason to."

"But you haven't talked to him about it?"

"Not once." Feuilly frowned. "I just thought you might have an idea."

"I haven't, sorry." Éponine took a small step backwards. "Maybe Combeferre would know?"

"He thinks I'm imagining it." Feuilly let out a short bark of a laugh. "I'm not, though."

"Enjolras is a...Well, he can be a bit strange," Éponine said. "We all know that."

"True, but this..." Feuilly cleared his throat. "I have a bad feeling about it, is all."

Éponine looked down at the grass, to the paintbrush that had tipped sideways and was colouring the green yellow. "You're not alone in that," she said, quietly. "So do I."

When she looked up, Feuilly's gaze, still fixed on her, had turned speculative.

"Thank you for the invite," he said. Éponine almost felt startled; she had more or less forgotten that was what they had been talking about in the first place. "I hope we will talk more soon."

"About -?" Éponine stopped herself before she could finish the question.

Feuilly stooped to retrieve his paints and brush. Once he was stood upright, he shrugged. "Not necessarily," he said. "I just realised that I don't know you very well, and that seems a shame, as everyone else seems to quite like you."

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "That's...true, I suppose?" she said, confused.

"We have a lot in common," Feuilly continued.

"We do?"

"Yes." Feuilly paused before he could add some red to his painting, and he gestured towards the canvas with his brush. "We both know the streets quite well, yes?"

Éponine wrapped her arms around herself. "Ah," she said. "I remember now."

"Marius mentioned me?" Feuilly threw a grin over his shoulder. "Did he? I never really got the impression that he noticed me, to be quiet honest."

"Only a few times," Éponine said. "You were an orphan?"

"Am," Feuilly corrected.

"I'm not an orphan," Éponine said, and then felt rather stupid for doing so.

"That's true," Feuilly said. "I knew your parents – not well – more I knew of them."

"A lot of people did." Éponine curled her fingers into the fabric of her dress. "Did you – ah – have any bad run-ins...?" Something like guilt weighed down on her.

"Never," Feuilly said. "But I knew people who did, unfortunately."

"I often wish I had been an orphan," Éponine said. Feuilly glanced at her, eyes narrowing a little bit.

"I can understand why," he said. He dabbed the red onto the canvas now, obscuring some of the previously applied yellow.

"So is that all you think we have in common?" Éponine found herself saying.

"No," Feuilly said. "I can think of a few other things."

"Such as?"

"Things," he said, simply.

She stared at the back of his head, and shook her own. "You're rather odd," she said.

"It's this place," he said, gesturing with his paintbrush.

"You mean being dead?" she said.

"Yes, it changes a person," he said.

"Another truth," Éponine sighed.

"I probably spend too much time on my own these days," he admitted. He looked at her again, frowning. "I must admit, it feels rather strange to have company as I paint."

"It feels strange to watch you paint," Éponine said.

He turned his head back towards the painting, but made no move to add anything else to it. "Do you like this painting?" he said.

She raised her eyebrows, and looked at it. She studied it for a few moments. When she had first seen it, she had liked it a lot, but on closer inspection...She liked the colours well enough, but its subject wasn't one she particularly liked. "It's a good painting," she said. "But not for me."

"What kind of painting would you like?" he asked.

"Why?" she replied.

"You'll see why," he said. "What would you like a painting of?" he repeated.

She looked out over the river for a few moments, then back towards him. She thought of a kitten with bright blue eyes and the flowers that inspired her name. "Flowers," she said. "Blue flowers."

"Blue flowers," he repeated. "All right. I think I can paint blue flowers."

"You – you don't have to paint me anything," Éponine said, frowning.

"A present for your new home," he said, by way of explanation.

"I don't expect presents," she said, even though she thought that the offer was a very nice one.

"I don't mind." Feuilly dipped his paintbrush, still stained red, into some white.

"I see." Éponine pursed her lips. "Well, I'll probably see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes," Feuilly said. "With your painting."

"Goodbye, Feuilly," she said.

"Goodbye, Éponine."

XXX

Despite the strangeness of their meeting, Éponine was able to push her conversation with Feuilly to the back of her mind, as she began to prepare for the actual party itself. She spent the day conjuring food, and with Inès' help conjured herself a new dress. This dress was butter yellow, with full sleeves and a high neckline, and Inès added some looping embroidery around the waist.

"Éponine!" Courfeyrac boomed, as he swept through the door with Combeferre and Éléonore in tow. "You look lovely." He swept her into his arms and spun her around once, before setting her, laughing, back on her feet.

"Thank you," she said, feeling a little breathless.

"You've redecorated," Éléonore said, smiling; she wore a pale grey dress and lots of white gems glittering on her fingers.

"Well, Fantine's taste for décor was a little bit headache-inducing," Inès commented, from where she was flopped over the sofa.

"True," Éléonore. "Not her strongest point, perhaps. Do I see éclairs?"

"You do see éclairs," Courfeyrac said, staring at the table where all the food Éponine had conjured sat.

"I don't remember the last time I ate," Éléonore said with a sigh, drifting over to the table, her skirts rustling as she walked.

"Did you manage to locate Feuilly in the end?" Combeferre asked, as Courfeyrac also descended on the food table. "Bahorel said you were looking for him."

"Yes, I did," Éponine said. "He was very – strange."

"Feuilly has been, recently. He paints a lot." Combeferre frowned. "I hadn't given it much thought. Who else did you invite? Is it just us?"

"I tried to invite Valjean, but he said no," she said. "Everyone else said yes, though, and Bossuet is bringing..."

"Bérénice?" Combeferre supplied. His frown deepened. "Ah."

"What is wrong with Bérénice?" Éponine asked, keeping her voice low as Gavroche dashed past to answer a knock at the door.

"Nothing, she's a lovely woman," Combeferre said. "But, ah, you wouldn't know – there are some...tensions, shall we say?"

"Tensions?" Éponine echoed, but then Bahorel, Prouvaire and Feuilly were coming through the doorway from the entrance room.

"Did you bring the Bliss?" Courfeyrac asked through a mouthful of cake. Bahorel and Prouvaire were both carrying barrels, which provided Courfeyrac's answer without anyone having to vocalise it. Feuilly had a roll of something tucked underneath one arm, wrapped in white cloth.

"The present," he said, pulling away the cloth with a flourish and handing Éponine the roll.

The roll was made of a coarse fabric. As she unravelled it, she saw the promised painting from the day before. It was done in a slightly different style to the street she had watched Feuilly paint the day before; the paint was thinner, more delicately applied, and this one, she did like. It was a mass of flowers in various shades of blue, deepening to purple and indigo and lightening to white in places.

"Thank you," Éponine breathed. "This – you didn't have to do this, Feuilly."

"It's about time I painted for someone," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "Do you prefer it to the street?" He inched to one side as Prouvaire and Bahorel moved to place their barrels down on a surface.

"Yes," she said.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to conjure a frame, but I thought you might like to do that for yourself." Feuilly rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "You really like it?"

"Of course! Thank you, thank you so much."

"It is very good," Combeferre said, coming to stand beside Éponine. He peered at the picture. "There's a lot of detail in there."

"I've had a lot of time to practise, but thank you," Feuilly said.

"I'll just put it in my room, it's less likely to get sat on in there," Éponine said. "Thank you again..."

She put the painting in her bedroom, and by the time she returned everyone had glasses of Bliss (apart from Gavroche) and they had been joined by Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras was crowded up on one end of the sofa, looking sulky, and Grantaire was laughing at something Bahorel was telling him.

"Hello," Éponine said, to Enjolras. He glanced up at her.

"Hello," he said.

"Still in a bad mood?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "You seemed to be in better spirits the last time we spoke."

"Nothing is the matter," he said.

"Not actually what I asked, but you're not very convincing about it either way," Éponine said. "You can at least smile, this is a party."

Enjolras looked as if he had been about to roll his eyes, but he managed to stop himself. "I heard Combeferre say that Feuilly gave you a painting," he said, tone serious.

"Yes, he did."

"Of blue flowers?"

Éponine raised her eyebrows, and moved around so that she could sit beside him on the sofa. "Yes," she said. "Did Combeferre tell you?"

"No," Enjolras said.

"Then how..." It dawned on her. "Ah. You saw it?"

"I saw it quite a while ago, yes." Enjolras looked away from her. "I think you should get to know Feuilly better. I think you'll like him."

"He does seem nice enough," Éponine said. "A bit strange, when we spoke yesterday." She paused. "He talked about you."

Enjolras' head shot around. "About me?"

"Yes, he said you've been treating him strangely," Éponine said. She cocked her head to one side. "Did you not see that?" she asked, keeping her tone innocent.

"No," he grumbled. "And I haven't."

"Well, you have been in his opinion," Éponine said, with a shrug.

"It's difficult," Enjolras said, quietly.

"I imagine it is, but you're not doing very well to help yourself," Éponine said. "If you were just more honest –"

"You don't understand what you're talking about," Enjolras said. "There are things I can't say."

"Literally can't?" Éponine questioned. "Or won't?"

"Both," Enjolras said. "Clémence...She said it isn't a good idea."

"Well, then, if you won't tell anyone then you need to stop behaving like this," Éponine said. "It's one or the other, Enjolras, and you need to choose."

She stood up, her dress rustling, and joined Courfeyrac, who was still hovering with Éléonore by the food table. They were now eating macaroons, discussing poetry, and drinking Bliss.

"Hello," Courfeyrac said, smiling at her. He brushed icing sugar from his fingertips. "Would you like a drink?" His eyes flicked past her, towards where Enjolras was still sitting. She knew then that he had noticed them speaking.

"Yes, please," Éponine said. "Sorry to interrupt your conversation," she added to Éléonore, as Courfeyrac went off to get her a glass.

"Oh, it's no matter," Éléonore said, flapping a hand and helping herself to a slice of cake. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Tired, of everyone acting so strangely." She had a theory that Combeferre would have mentioned everything that was going on to Éléonore, and the grim expression that settled on the redhead's face confirmed that notion.

"Yes," she said. "These things do happen, sometimes. It's unfortunate."

"Very." Courfeyrac appeared again, and Éponine accepted the glass off him with a smile.

"Things will sort themselves out, don't you worry," Éléonore said in a soft voice.

"Did Enjolras say something?" Courfeyrac asked, frowning.

"No," Éponine said. She patted Courfeyrac's arm. "Let's not think about that."

Courfeyrac opened his mouth, as if to continue on that subject, but Éléonore cut him off by asking, "So have you read any of Catherine Lachance's works? The library has all of them, she no longer lives in this area – she left a long time ago – but she wrote some very beautiful poems..."

Éponine was grateful for Éléonore then, as she didn't wish to put herself into an even darker mood by talking about Enjolras with Courfeyrac. She half-listened to their conversation about this Catherine Lachance (whose works Courfeyrac had read), whilst slowly sipping her glass of Bliss.

It was not long before there was another knock at the door. Gavroche, in his self-appointed position as master of the door (now with Hyacinthe's help), went to answer it, and came back a moment later with Joly trailing behind him.

"Bossuet and Bérénice are outside," he said, in a glum voice, and proceeded to sit beside Enjolras.

The room became very quiet and still for a few moments, and then chatter slowly resumed. Enjolras was looking at Joly, who was staring at his lap.

"Excuse me," Éponine murmured, slipping away from Courfeyrac's side and over to the sofas.

Before she could reach them, however, there was another knock at the door and then Gavroche was welcoming the final guests. Bossuet wore a huge smile that looked a little tight and forced around the edges, and Bérénice was not smiling at all as she first came in, until she spotted Éponine. The smile that appeared on her face then was all teeth, and Éponine found that she desperately wanted to smile back at her.

"We are neighbours, now," Bérénice said, coming towards her. She was wearing a pink dress with a low neckline that her rather generous bosom was almost spilling out of. "I live around the corner." She gripped Éponine by her shoulders and planted a hard kiss on both her cheeks. "Thank you for inviting me," she said, in a voice that was almost a whisper. "I'm not sure that any of the others would have done, given the situation."

"What situation?" Éponine said, frowning. She made sure to keep her own voice just as quiet, assuming that this was a subject that not everyone was supposed to overhear.

Bérénice looked surprised. "No one mentioned it?"

"No," Éponine said. She was fast becoming annoyed. "What situation?"

Bérénice looked around. Joly was watching them, and Bossuet was watching Joly. A pained look went across Joly's face, and then he stood. He approached them, flexing his hands.

"I'm sorry, Éponine, but I'm going to have to leave," he said. "Thank you very much for inviting me, but I should not have come here."

"Oh, Joly," Bérénice said, her voice almost a snap. "You're being childish."

Joly ignored her, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

"That's the situation?" Éponine said, indicating Joly's retreating back with her drink. "No, no one thought to mention that," she said. She had known Joly's mood was low, and she vaguely remembered an argument of some sort the last time she had seen Bérénice. But that was so long ago. She had no idea it was still going on.

Bossuet appeared behind Bérénice, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close to him. "It was a risk I took in asking if I could bring Bérénice," he admitted. He glanced down at the golden-haired woman in his arms.

"It's not your fault," she said, smiling up at him.

Éponine pursed her lips, and took a sip of Bliss. Edging around them, she placed the cup down on the short-legged table next to them. "It's no problem," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

She walked away from them, through the door into the entrance room, and then left the flat. The idea of Joly leaving alone did not sit right with her.

She did not have to look far. He was stood with his arms braced against the railings running around a yard opposite the apartment. She wasn't sure from the distance she was from him, but she suspected that his shoulders were shaking.

Quietly, she approached him, heading to one side of him. Her fingers curled around the cold iron railings, and she leaned her shoulder against them too. She looked up. In the window of the building in front of them was a Portal, depicting a lovely dark-skinned woman with lots of brown curly hair. She was sat on a wooden chair, and drying tears glistened on her cheeks.

Éponine realised she could hear the woman speaking. "I am sorry, Joly," the woman was murmuring under her breath, voice thick. "Bossuet. I'm sorry."

She knew that Joly was crying. With a sigh, she reached out her hand and closed it into a fist, waving it. The Portal closed, and Joly's head shot up.

"I'm sorry," she said, "But I fully agree with the belief that Portals can be dangerous for people. They're not healthy. Is this your first time conjuring one?"

Joly's eyes were very red and damp. He shook his head, but didn't speak.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Éponine asked.

He shook his head again.

"Would you please come back to the party?" Éponine reached out to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it, letting her arm drop back by her side.

He shook his head once more, and then pushed away from the railings. He dragged his sleeve over his face. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to cause an atmosphere. I'll be going now."

"Joly, wait," she said, but he had already turned and began walking off up the streets.

Éponine found herself moving forwards to follow him, but a hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Let him go," Courfeyrac said, his hand slipping down to link their fingers together. "Éponine, he needs some time."

"But –"

"You can't fix everyone," Courfeyrac said, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.

Éponine jerked away from him a little, and watched as Joly disappeared around the corner.

A/N: I don't really know what happened with this chapter – it was meant to be much shorter, but Feuilly kind of took over – like literally, that section was not how I planned it to be originally.

Thanks again for the reviews/favourites/follows, I really appreciate it and I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter :)